


Running with the Dogs

by Piscaria



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-01
Updated: 2011-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-24 05:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piscaria/pseuds/Piscaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Uncle Aquila saves Esca from the arena and Marcus from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running with the Dogs

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [fanmedia challenge: round two](http://ninth-eagle.livejournal.com/137675.html).
> 
> Many thanks to for looking over my rough trio of scenes and advising me on how to extrapolate a story from them. I've fused the book timeline with the movie canon to keep myself from going insane while writing this.

The slave master found me crouched in the dirt before the cages that lined the arena, watching the wolves through the iron bars. Hungry, miserable creatures all, they paced their narrow, filthy cages with their hackles up, teeth bared at me, though I'd made no move towards them since crouching in the blood-stained dirt.

I'd come to see my death.

Having refused to fight with the gladiator, I would next be scheduled for a morning show. I would face these wolves with a spear in my hands. I would toss it away, and they would rip me apart. This time, no fool in the audience could sway my fate. The wolves would show no mercy, since they'd received none at the hands of their captors.

From behind me, I heard the groan of the heavy arena doors falling open. I turned to see the fat slave master striding onto the dirt floor, a white-haired man in a toga walking beside him.

The slave master glared to find me shirking my duties. But when he spoke, it was to the old man. “There, you’ve seen him,” he said. “A useless barbarian runaway. I hope now you’ll change your mind.”

The old man frowned. He stepped forward, circling me slowly, like a hawk. His eyes were keen.

“ _Loquerisne Latine_?” he asked me.

I glared at the ground. The slave master stepped forward and cuffed me, sharply.

“Answer him, slave!”

I sighed. “ _Loquor._ ”

The old man nodded, frowning thoughtfully. A barrage of questions followed after that. Had I been trained for the baths? Could I cook? Had I ever looked after injuries? Could I read, at all? Could I wrap a toga? So rapid were his questions that it took me a few moments to realize he was thinking of buying me. I straightened, looking up at him in surprise. No one wants a slave who'd tried to run. A slave who'd failed even to die. Yet his expression was earnest. When he’d questioned me to his liking, he started up a round of negotiation with the slave master. I let their voices wash over me like the sea.

Finally, it was done.

“Come along, slave,” the old man said.

The slave master gave me one long, dark look as I followed him from the arena.

Biting my lip, I looked at the old man, then out at the street beyond. It would be easy enough to break free from him, to run, once more, and take my chances. The old man saw me looking. He cocked his head deliberately. I knew from his expression that he wouldn't try to stop me. And even if he tried, he was old and I was young and strong, despite yesterday’s beating in the arena. I'd always been the fastest runner in my clan. I could be free of him, if I chose, leave Calleva and disappear into the wild. Perhaps this time I wouldn’t be caught.

I’d managed, in these two years, to keep my father’s dagger hidden away. I let my hand linger on its hilt beneath my wool tunic. I shouldn’t need it, not to escape the old man, but he might call for the guards.

Then he said, quite offhandedly, "I bought you as a gift for my nephew."

I glanced sideways at him.

"Your nephew?" I asked cautiously.

"The young man who saved your life yesterday," he clarified. Then I realized how I knew him; at the time, he’d barely registered in my attention, I’d been so focused on the young man standing beside him. I remembered his nephew, strong and tall, urging the crowd to lift their thumbs. To let me live. Shame flushed my cheeks and I felt freedom slipping from me. My hand fell away from the dagger.

"I see."

He frowned. "My nephew, "he was choosing his words very carefully, "was a soldier. He was recently discharged for his wounds. He’s taken it rather badly.”

When I was ten, my brothers went on a wolf hunt. That morning at breakfast, they’d talked of nothing else. Their excitement had been contagious. I took it up, bragging how I would strangle a wolf with my bare hands, just watch. But everybody laughed at me, even our father. The eldest, Derwonos, ruffled my hair.

"Fierce little Esca. Someday you will, I'm sure."

That's when I realized I wouldn't be allowed to go.

It infuriated me. Everyone was going. Even my cousin, Talorc, and at twelve, he wasn't that much older than I. From the doorway of the house, I watched them ride off, tall and strongly made on their horses, laughing. My favorite brother, Canni, smiled back at me as he left, but I refused to meet his eyes. None of the others paid me any mind at all.

Sullen anger burned in my chest. My mother tried to distract me. She bade me to go fishing, for I loved to fish. But nothing could distract my mind from the wolf hunt and the glory my brothers were surely earning for themselves. After this day, the sons of Cunoval would wear wolf pelts, I was sure of it. All but I, the youngest and the smallest. I wept, and felt ashamed for it.

When Canni found me, I was sulking in the forest that grew wild behind my father's cattle pasture, furiously loosing arrow after arrow at the target I'd painted on an alder trunk.

"Esca," he said.

I turned. I couldn’t maintain anger at him, for he was my favorite and I couldn't entirely ignore him. He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a snarling ball of fur.

“Here, take her,” he urged.

Gingerly I lifted the wolf cub, staring at the dusty gray pelt, the sharp little teeth.

Canni smiled, resting a hand on my shoulder. He was fourteen then, not yet tattooed. His eyes were the same gray as mine, but warmer. Kind.

He said, "If you raise a wolf among dogs, it will grow up to think its one of them. This one is so small, she'll taste her first meat from human hands. Father will be proud to have a wolf guarding our home and helping with the hunt."

I petted the ruff, feeling the thick fur under my hands. "I could help you," I offered tentatively, sure Canni would tell me I was too young for this, too. But Canni smiled at me.

"No," he said. "I'm too busy of late training for battle. This cub is yours. You must raise her well." Fierce joy rose up in my chest. He'd got it for me. He thought of me amongst the hunt.

“I will," I promised.

Now, looking at my new master, I realized that I was to serve the same function for his nephew that the wolf puppy had for me. He would keep me as a pet and tame me. I would distract him from the pain of his wounds.

“What is your name, slave?” the old man asked.

I sighed, remembering that wolf running with our dogs. “I’m Esca,” I said.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This story now has DVD commentary [here](http://piscaria.livejournal.com/186948.html), if you are interested in hearing about my thought process while writing it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lie Down With Wolves (The Ain't Nothin' But the Centurion's Hound Dog Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/375038) by [Isis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis)




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